


color my world

by glitch_writes



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, EnnoTana Week 2018, Eventual Romance, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 14:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15632967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitch_writes/pseuds/glitch_writes
Summary: It’s when Chikara’s behind him in the checkout lane that he catches onto why he’s glaring at the loaf of bread dangling from his hand.Between his fingers in the same hand he holds a small paintbrush, looking at it from time to time with regret reminiscent of a nostalgic lover lamenting a flame that escaped years ago.In his other hand, he holds a few coins, hardly enough for the store-brand loaf.He reaches out to the pile of abandoned items left by other shoppers besides the conveyor belt with the paintbrush like a torch to a pyre when Chikara says, “I’ll pay.”-The artist Chikara meets is just like the paintings he shares after Chikara buys him a replacement brush: vibrant, inspiring, and piece by piece coloring Chikara's world.





	color my world

**Author's Note:**

> For [EnnoTana Week](http://ennotana-week.tumblr.com/), for the color prompts!

Red paint on ripped jeans.

It’s what Chikara notices first, the little detail that keeps inexplicably attracting his gaze whenever he walks past the stranger in the department store. He doesn’t notice the buzzcut the first time, and it’s not until they’re beside each other in the bread aisle that he notices the variety of earrings and the piercing in his furrowed brow.

It’s when Chikara’s behind him in the checkout lane that he catches onto why he’s glaring at the loaf of bread dangling from his hand. 

Between his fingers in the same hand he holds a small paintbrush, looking at it from time to time with regret reminiscent of a nostalgic lover lamenting a flame that escaped years ago. 

In his other hand, he holds a few coins, hardly enough for the store-brand loaf. 

He reaches out to the pile of abandoned items left by other shoppers besides the conveyor belt with the paintbrush like a torch to a pyre when Chikara says, “I’ll pay.”

The stranger’s eyes widen. “Nah, I couldn’t-” he starts, dismissively, before a twitch of his lips, “-You mean it? It ain’t much.”

“I’m not exactly lacking.” Chikara gestures at himself, a wave of his hand over his torso. His suit isn’t cheap, enough so that it makes him feel starkly out of place amongst the businessmen stopping by after work. “Take advantage of it,” he adds with a smile.

The stranger sizes him up with a scowl, and Chikara wonders if he crossed a line with his bluntness until the stranger smirks. “Eat the rich, right?” 

Chikara smirks. “Absolutely.” 

Then the stranger grins brightly as he laughs and grips the paintbrush close to his chest, and Chikara wonders if he paints sunflowers that match his smile. 

“Do you… Do you need more?” Chikara asks, fueled by the sunflower smile. “I’m sure the stock isn’t great here, but we can go back to the crafts section and get whatever you want.” 

“I- Nah, I couldn’t, that’s too much…”

Chikara bends his wrist for his Rolex to peek out under his cuffs. “What happened to eating the rich?”

The stranger grabs a basket by the abandoned products pile. “I’m gonna buy out the whole aisle on your wallet.”

“Like a modern day Goemon.”

The sunflower stranger’s name is Tanaka, Chikara learns as they walk. He paints anything and everything, but mostly his emotions. He likes all mediums he tries, too, “the messier the better”. He works as a repairman and has a grudge against toaster ovens. Chikara avoids talking about his line of work; after his less-than-humble introduction, he doesn’t want to come off as boastful. 

Tanaka is hesitant, it turns out, stopping shy of the aisle and announcing he was “just kidding”, but Chikara continues ahead. “You should have more of these as backup,” he says as he grabs a set of brushes of the same brand as the one still in Tanaka’s hand. 

Tanaka continues to stand short of the aisle, watching from his reluctant distance. “Why are you doing this?” 

Because his smile made Chikara want to wander through a field of sunflowers, to feel the sun on his face and a gentle breeze through his hair. “Because creating is invaluable. Money is nothing compared to an artist’s work.” 

Tanaka’s eyes widen again, his lips parted a sliver in awe before his wits return. “You haven’t even seen my stuff. What if I’m shitty?”

“Then there’s only one way to improve. Do you use these types of easels?” 

Tanaka shakes his head, a lift to his lips returning with a flash of teeth, and Chikara considers the small grin a priceless victory. 

After the purchase and a few more reassurances that it was more than fine, Tanaka beams at him, a full-on smile to rival the sun. It’s a shame Tanaka doesn’t want to bite the hand that feeds, Chikara decides; he’d readily buy out the whole craft aisle for a man he barely knows, as long as he smiles so genuinely. 

“Do you, uh, do you wanna exchanges numbers, or something like that?” Tanaka asks as they near the door. 

“Please, don’t feel obliged-”

“Nah, it ain’t like that,” Tanaka interrupts. “I just figured, I could send you pics of my stuff, if you want. Show you the results of your investment and all that.” 

Chikara wonders for a moment if Tanaka will be in the pictures alongside the paintings, showing off that masterpiece of a smile. But more than that, he truly wants to see Tanaka’s work; he’s curious what his emotions look like on the canvas. “As long as you don’t mind me buying you more supplies.” 

“Guess I can deal with that.” Tanaka flashes him a final gift of a grin before he pulls out his phone. 

Chikara laughs to himself the whole ride home; it’s ridiculous, really, and somehow satisfying that he can’t wait to spend more money on the stranger that reminds him of sunflowers.

*

A burst of orange.

If a higher power painted the first dawn with splashes of orange and complimented them with haphazard strokes of a brush, it would look like the picture in the text message.   
  


**[ Tanaka ]**   
told u i’d send a pic   
…………   
kinda embarrassed i sent that 1 now lol   
pretend u didn’t c it   
i’ll send a better 1   
  


It’s the first text from Tanaka, a text Chikara hasn’t expected at all, honestly. He’d hoped, certainly; his worries about coming off too strong were second to his curiosity. The wait and the worries pay off, as well as the other evening’s purchases; the painting is beautiful in a way he can’t describe. It makes him feel adventurous, invigorated by the hues of orange and restless from the swirls and sharp zigzags of brush strokes.    
  


**[ Ennoshita ]**   
Its energy is inspiring  
It gives me a feeling like I’m trying something new and daring  
What was your feeling behind it?

**[ Tanaka ]**   
something kinda like that actually   
like   
u know when u wake up some days   
n u get that feeling like   
its gonna b different?   
like something new and exciting is gonna happen   
but also kinda mysterious

**[ Ennoshita ]**   
I can see it

  
He isn’t quite sure what more to say on that. As a creator himself, he values all interpretations of his work, no matter how different they are from his intentions. To move his audience - be it to make them think or to make them feel - is what drives him. He shouldn’t assume another creator feels the same, though. Giving his general impression went well enough, but would it be presumptuous to get specific? Would it cross a line to say the the swirls cascading outward reminds him of that defining moment when he’s gathered all he needs for a new project, and he’s about to take the next step forward? It’s not just a painting to Tanaka, after all; it’s his emotion that he’s baring to a man he barely knows. 

  
**[ Ennoshita ]**   
I don’t know much about art, but I can tell you’re quite skilled   
It must have taken a lot of practice and dedication to use these techniques so well

  
The [  _ Tanaka is typing… _ ] message starts and stops, starts and stops, a pattern with no rhythm. It’s not until Ennoshita puts his phone down two minutes later that it finally chimes as it touches his desk.    
  


**[ Tanaka ]**   
do u wanna meet up 4 lunch?   
ur treat >:)

**[ Ennoshita ]**   
Goemon strikes again   
When?

**[ Tanaka ]**   
right now

  
Despite his initial confidence to eat at Chikara’s expense, it takes some prodding to get Tanaka to suggest a place that was at least a smidge better than fast food. 

The restaurant he eventually picks is still cheap, and it’s tiny, but it’s cozy. Probably for the best, Chikara decides; it’s nice, and there’s less of a chance that he’ll get recognized. 

Tanaka’s dressed in khakis and a short-sleeve button-up, and though it looks just fine, it doesn’t fit the impression Chikara has of him like his  paint splattered jeans do. The furrowed brow as he stares at the menu is familiar, at least.

“Stop looking at the prices. Get anything you want.”

“Alright, show-off,” Tanaka grins. “What if I get one of everything?”

“Then you’ll have an awful lot of leftovers.” 

When the server takes their order - one meal for each, despite Tanaka’s teasing - she gives Chikara that look he’s become all too familiar with, tilting her head just a sliver and squinting her eyes, but she thankfully skips the usual “Do I know you from somewhere?” before she departs.

“Thanks for this,” Tanaka begins, folding his napkin in half diagonally. “And. Um. Thanks. For being real.”

Chikara blinks at him. “Could you elaborate on that?”

“In the store, when I said you shouldn’t buy me stuff cause you don’t know if my art’s garbage or not, you didn’t give me some bullshit like,” Tanaka raises the pitch of his voice, “‘Oh, I’m sure it’s good!’” He folds the napkin again and trails the crease with the back of his nail. “And when I showed you my stuff, you didn't go ‘Oh, you’re so talented’. You said you could tell I practiced. That…” he pauses his words and hands alike for a heavy beat before unfolding the napkin, “That means a lot to me. I practiced my ass off for years. I’m sick of people thinkin’ I just picked up a brush and that’s it, that it’s all just some natural talent.”

Chikara doesn’t know much about art, but he certainly knows that feeling. Others mean well. Truly, they do. Their awe at the final work is genuine. But it doesn’t happen with a wave of his hand; it happens because of years and grueling years of observing, studying, and practicing. “How long have you been creating art for?”

“Shit. Long as I can remember.” Tanaka folds as he tells his tale of studying techniques and being a general nuisance. He drew with everything on everything, much to his mother’s dismay when he was still drawing on the walls with crayons at 17 if the urge struck. Though he sticks to mostly paints and charcoals, he tries whatever he can whenever he can. The only exception is graffiti - after getting caught and spending three months in jail on his first try, he decided that medium wasn't for him. 

“I’m just going on about me like a jackass again. Tell me about you.” Tanaka places his folded napkin in the middle of the table - an origami koi fish, riddled with miscreases, but its shape unmistakable. “What do you do that gets you those fancy glasses that are probably worth more than my apartment?” 

“Well, I…” It’s not that Chikara wants to keep it a secret, but talking to someone that has no clue who he is… It’s a nice change of pace. Not that most people know him by name, or especially face, but that’s starting to change after his last project, and with it he’s learning that there are too many that’ll feign friendship for their own selfishness. That, and the server is still giving him that inquisitive look when she comes by with their food. “I work with a lot of pretentious people,” he replies before thanking the server with a polite nod. After she walks away, he continues, “I like that you don’t know what I do. Is that okay? I could tell you, but...”

“Is it shady?” Tanaka asks with a glint in his eye.

“No, nothing like that. I just… I deal with  a lot of people that pretend to care about me because of it.”

Tanaka frowns, and a trickle of fear drips down Chikara’s spine like paint until Tanaka says, “Damn, thought I was walking into some cool murder mystery or something.”

“Murder?!”

“Yeah! Imagine:” Tanaka leans low, lowering his voice to match, “You’re a hitman, walkin’ around with your fancy suit and tie. You find your mark - a handsome, charming painter - and you’re about to go in for the kill, then you realize- He’s way too hot. It would be a crime against humanity to rob such good looks from the world. So instead, you start buying him stuff. Like some secret apology for almost acting on such a sin.”

Chikara laughs, his smile hurting his cheeks, before he gestures at his knit jumper. “Do I really look like a hitman?” 

“Maybe it’s a clever disguise. Maaaybe you’re still thinking about taking me out, and this lunch is to catch me off guard. I’m onto your witty schemes, rich boy.” Smirking, Tanaka gestures ‘I’m watching you’ with two fingers, pointing from his eyes to Chikara’s. “I get it. I been there, too, back when I posted stuff online. Assholes everywhere that act like your buddy cause they want free stuff, or want you to be some billboard to make them famous. So, I get it if you wanna keep your job a secret.” He grins deviously before adding, “Besides, it makes you all mysterious. But you gotta tell me  _ some _ stuff about yourself. I’m feeling like an asshole, doing all the talking.”

So Chikara does. As they eat, he talks about his hobbies - video games of all genres, knitting, hunting in stores for obscure movies. He talks about his work, vaguely; he mentions that he works on one large project at a time, and sometimes that means traveling. And, feeling a little more comfortable after Tanaka asks such genuine questions to get to know  _ him _ \- and after excitedly talking about their mutual favorite horror game - he tells Tanaka that he struggled in school despite excellent grades, due to the rarely-diagnosed form of depression ‘burnout syndrome’ in his third year, and then taking another two years to get back on his feet. 

After the food is long done, they keep talking about anything and everything. 

Tanaka is like the other side of a mirror - a creator that’s struggled, burned out, and rose again, but everything they do is wildly different. When Chikara brings his right hand up to the mirror, the man on the other side meets him with his left. Chikara made his passion into his career and is happy for it; the man in the mirror tried that and despised it, would rather fix kitchen appliances for the rest of his life. But the reflection is the same - they want to entertain others with their work, to make them smile or make them think, to inspire them or give them some relief when the world is overbearing.

Tanaka folds napkins as they talk, a school of koi fish swimming over the tablecloth, each one better than the last. 

“Oh shit, the sun’s setting already? What time is it?” 

“It’s-” Chikara pulls out his phone, “-16 missed calls from work.” He sighs and closes his eyes; it’s probably nothing - judging by the number, it’s probably just Azumane-san overthinking something, but work is work. “I need to go. Sorry to leave suddenly.” He glances at the orange sun trickling through the window, “Well, sort of suddenly.” 

“Here, let me help with the bill-”

“No.”

“C’mon, I gotta pay you back for-”

“You can pay me back by sending me a pic of your next painting.” 

Tanaka smiles, the brightest Chikara’s seen. “You got it!”

Chikara’s heart skips a beat. “Next time we meet up, let’s buy out a craft store for you.”

*

Yellow, yellow, yellow, as far as Chikara can see.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“Cause you asked about sunflowers!”

The field of sunflowers is a wondrous sight. They’re imposing up close, anywhere from an inch to two feet taller than him, but they fill him with the same wonder and cheer as the paintings Tanaka shares with him.

“I asked if you painted them,” Chikara laughs.

“Well, I figured if you’re asking that, it’s cause you like ‘em, right?” 

To anyone else, Tanaka would seem out of place, Chikara muses - black shirt, ripped jeans, buzzcut and piercings. To Chikara, though, Tanaka fits right in, as dazzling as the rest of the flowers when he smiles. 

“I do.”

Spending time together has become a common occurrence over the past five months. Well, somewhat. “Common” isn’t quite fitting to describe it. It’s certainly frequent, but if there’s a pattern to when or where, Chikara has yet to pick up on it. There’s only one constant: Tanaka never gives a warning - the closest to a head’s up Chikara ever gets is that once in a blue moon, Tanaka tells him where they’re going instead of just which station to meet at. 

Chikara loves it. 

Sometimes, it’s a random place that Chikara’s never been. Sometimes, it’s to Tanaka’s place to play “hot potato” with a controller over a horror game. Sometimes, it’s to a store because Tanaka’s finally starting to understand that Chikara would buy him anything he needs without hesitation. (He still stutters every step of the way, and Chikara still buys him far more than the single piece he needs.)

Every evening after, Chikara returns home inspired.

Every morning after, Chikara wakes up to a text full of brilliant colors and brilliant feelings, a painting and a heart bared to him. 

Tanaka leads both the conversation and the way through the sunflowers. “What if an assassin and a hot guy were surrounded by zombies in this place?”

“That would be... strangely terrifying. The flowers would give the zombies cover.”

“Would is still be scary in broad daylight?” 

“Hm… It could be. It would give the feeling that nothing is safe.”

“Damn. Total power move by zombies.”

They talk about what they usually do - anything and everything. Tanaka doesn’t know about Chikara’s career, but at this point, Chikara feels like he knows everything else. Tanaka knows about his past from his childhood to the moment they met in the store, knows about his thoughts on life and the universe, knows  _ him. _

The inspiration Tanaka gives him is almost perfect. 

Almost.

As they make their way back to the station, he finally brings up the flaw.

“Tanaka…” Chikara stops walking, the weight of his words in his throat making it hard to breathe. “Do you remember... when I said I have to travel for work sometimes?”

Tanaka stops and turns, and Chikara wishes he hadn’t; the vulnerability in Tanaka’s eyes is worse than the words strangling him.

“I’m going out of the country for a while.”

“How long’s a while?” Tanaka asks quietly. 

‘Quietly’ doesn’t suit him.

“At least six months. Could be as long as a year.” It’s hard to smile, but he tries; it comes easier when he thinks about the first painting Tanaka showed him, the orange brush strokes that are starting to swirl around his heart, the dawn of his journey ahead. Tanaka will still be there, only a text message away, just like that first. “Try not to get arrested,” Chikara teases. “I’m not sure if I can bail you out from out of the country.”

Tanaka’s lips twitch before he finally gives him a grin. “Nah, no more graffitti for me, remember?” He begins walking again, and Chikara falls in step beside him. “You've been working on whatever the hell your project is for a while now. I’m proud of ya for getting this far with it.” He pats Chikara on the back of the shoulder.

Tanaka doesn’t drop his hand until they reach the station five minutes later, his palm warm on Chikara’s back, his fingers curled over Chikara’s shoulders and gently squeezing when Chikara says he’s not leaving for another two weeks. 

The next morning, Chikara wakes to a new text: a painting of sunflowers that match Tanaka’s smile.

*

Green flannel sheets with mismatched pillow cases. 

Chikara’s seen Tanaka’s bedroom before, but only in passing; any time spent at his place involves playing games or putting out kitchen fires after trying to cook something unusual together. The bedroom, like the rest of the apartment, is surprisingly clean. Well, clean considering that Tanaka doesn’t exactly radiate “organized”. It’s the type of clean that Chikara admires but can’t get into the habit of - the bed’s unmade, the closet’s ajar, presumably-art-related supplies are scattered across the dresser, and the seven or so manga on the bedside table are disheveled and in no particular order, but everything still has its place and none of it - with the exception of a dragon plush that tumbled off the bed - is on the floor. 

“Should we cover the bed with towels?”

“Nah. It shouldn’t get messy unless you decide to roll around or something.” Tanaka sets two folding chairs by the bed, and sets his supplies on one like a makeshift desk before sitting on the other. “Thanks for this,” he says, gesturing to the bed.

“Thank you for offering the opportunity.” Chikara sits on the edge of the bed in front of Tanaka. “Why didn’t you ask Nishinoya?” 

“Cause there’s no way in hell I can get him to sit still long enough.” 

That sounded par for the course for the infamous best friend Chikara’s yet to meet, though it wasn’t for lack of interest in introducing them on Tanaka’s part, but for conflicting ‘schedules’. Tanaka’s spontaneous, but Nishinoya makes him look tame in comparison. Between that and Chikara’s unsteady work schedule, trying to get the three of them in the same spot at once is impossible. 

“Besides, there’s, uh… not much space on him,” Tanaka confesses, looking behind his shoulder as if Nishinoya could spawn in his bedroom at the mention. “Not that I need too much for this, but he’s, er, slender. Not much room for detail.” Tanaka pats Chikara’s knee. “Let’s do the leg first. I got a sketch for that, but I wanna try winging the rest.”

Chikara rests his leg on Tanaka’s lap. “Um, like this?” 

“Ye- Yeah. Yeah, perfect. Could you, um, fold the shorts up a bit more? Just- just in case.” 

Chikara does just that, folding them about halfway up his thigh, and Tanaka sets to work with the array of supplies that look nothing like what Chikara thought body paint would look like. 

Tanaka begins with what looks like a marker, but draws like an eyeshadow stick. He often glances to the sketch propped up against the back of the chair, but he doesn’t follow it precisely, trying something different line by line before ultimately cleaning the spontaneous additions away. 

The drawing coming together piece by increasingly more complicated piece on Chikara’s knee is fascinating - a robotic joint with gears that have a steampunk vibe - but Chikara’s more fascinated by the artist’s serenity. 

Chikara had expected an intense gaze, the usual furrowed brow and maybe biting his lip or sticking his tongue out like when he’s figuring out a puzzle in a game they’re playing together. Instead, Tanaka looks peaceful, a wave of calm smoothing away the lines in his brow and relaxing his lips to part them a hypnotic sliver. 

Chikara can’t tear his eyes away. 

Tanaka’s so enthralled in his work that he doesn't notice. At least, not for a while. When he does, though, glancing up at Chikara from the corner of his eye, Chikara gives Tanaka a soft smile, and the smile Tanaka gives back is much the same.

After Tanaka finishes the second knee, he clears his throat awkwardly. “Shirt? Off? For the- for the torso bit, I mean.”

Chikara pulls his shirt over his head and folds it before setting it on a pillow. The pink that blooms across Tanaka’s cheeks is a painting Chikara plans to cherish, admittedly a bit smugly. 

Tanaka begins his work again, drawing with the marker-like tool on Chikara’s shoulder, but it takes a few minutes before that enthralled serenity returns; Tanaka’s distracted, eyes wandering from their canvas to Chikara’s collarbone from time to time. Chikara’s not exactly helpful, tilting his head just barely to bring Tanaka’s attention to his neck and delighting in Tanaka’s blush.

It’s tempting to make a move. Too tempting.

But he can't bring himself to make a wonderful mess of their friendship days before he leaves. 

Perhaps when he gets back.

“Check it out!” Tanaka grabs his hand to yank him off the bed and face him to the full length mirror by the closet.

The hard, distinct lines, the realistic shading, the worn metal and tiny cracks of the gears ‘moving’ Chikara’s joints - every detail is a drastic contrast from the paintings Chikara wakes to most mornings. Just like the paintings, though, it’s beyond impressive; he looks more like a cyborg than most of the ones in the obscure, B-rated movies he collects, and there’s a temptation to touch the gears to remind himself they’re not real. “This is… This is incredible. You’ve really never done this before?” 

“Yup, first time!” Tanaka grins with pride, scratching the back of his neck bashfully. “Let’s do this again when you get back?”

Chikara squeezes the hand still in his. “I’d like that.”

*

Blue, glitter eyeshadow and long lashes… on one eye. 

“Did I call at a bad time?” 

“Nah. One sec, I’ll just-”

Chikara’s phone screen goes dark with the exception of a sliver of Tanaka’s bedroom peeking out from over the blanket, and there’s a creak of a drawer followed by some muffled shuffling before Tanaka returns on the screen with an eyepatch over the makeup-less eye. “Problem solved.”

“Is that from when you went ‘ghost hunting’ with Nishinoya and fell out the window?”

Tanaka fingerguns at the camera with one hand. “You got it.” 

The months roll by like molasses despite how quick the days feel. The time between waking up and video calling Tanaka before bed goes by in a blink, but he feels like he’s been away for years. 

Chikara’s never felt homesick before. Then again, a person’s never felt like home to him before. 

They talk nearly every night. Some nights, Tanaka calls from somewhere besides home - sometimes to show Chikara a new place he discovered, sometimes to visit a memory they made together. His paintings the mornings after are somber but hopeful, and maybe Chikara’s projecting when he feels the longing in them. 

Tanaka lays on his bed to mirror Chikara, on his stomach and resting his chin on his forearm. “Was trying out a new brand Sis told me about. How’s the blue look?”

“You pull it off surprisingly well. The it really sells the pirate aesthetic.” 

Tanaka grins, a devious grin with that look in his eye like he knows something. “Looks like I know how to show up for auditions if your next movie’s got pirates.”

Chikara rolls over onto his back and holds the phone above his head, giving Tanaka a soft smile. “So you finally found out.” It was bound to happen sooner rather than later; between the cast he got for this project and the excellent marketing team, his name was bound to be plastered everywhere online and off. He tried to tell Tanaka before, but Tanaka was insistent on preserving Chikara’s ‘mysterious bad boy who knits his own cardigans vibe’. 

“Hell yeah I found out! Kiyoko Shimizu playing an assassin that smooches Michimiya Yui? Azumane Asahi in a  _ suit _ ? Chikara, it’s like you’re directing this movie just for me.” 

All three of Tanaka’s favorite actors, judging by the posters taped to his bedroom wall. An extremely lucky coincidence, for the most part - working with Azumane again was a guarantee, but the other two were big names that Chikara has to pinch himself on set sometimes to make sure he's not dreaming. 

Tanaka mirrors him again, rolling onto his back. “So, when are you gonna take me to see this movie of yours, huh?”

“Actually, I’ve been thinking…” It’s been on his mind since he started recording months ago, a constant argument with himself over the pros and cons. But Tanaka reminds him to live his life how he wants it. That it’s okay to live a fulfilling life fixing toaster ovens because his passion is beyond money and fame. For Chikara, it means showing his passion to the world, no matter what the media has to say. “...Would you like to be my plus one for the premier?” 

Tanaka’s eyes widen. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You mean… you mean  _ the _ premier? With all the actors and the big names and the suits?”

“If that’s too much-"

“-You mean taking me like a date?” Tanaka interrupts, realization dawning in his eyes at his own words after the fact. “I- I mean-"

“Yes,” Chikara replies softly. 

“Hell yeah, I’ll be there!” Tanaka smiles, that bright smile from ear to ear that enchanted Chikara when they first met. “Anything to see you sooner. ...And to see Azumane is a suit.”

Chikara huffs in amusement. “You’re supposed to be my date, remember?”

“Don't you worry. I'll be the best damn arm candy in the whole place. We'll make everyone jealous.”

The two months ahead will drag by slower than the past few, Chikara realizes, knowing that soon he can finally call Tanaka his date, but the wait will be worthwhile beyond compare. “Sounds like a plan.” 

*

A purple tie that matches his own.

Chikara’s barely slept, nightmare after nightmare that he and Tanaka wouldn’t recognize each other after so long, but all of his worries and exhaustion fly out the limo door when the chauffeur opens it. 

Standing outside of the luxury hotel is Tanaka, all dressed up and waiting for him. 

Chikara regrets he couldn’t meet him until the ride to the premiere, setting him up in the hotel alone instead. 

He regrets more that he had to send someone in his stead to get Tanaka fitted for a suit, because he could have used a warning - Tanaka looks so good, it’s giving him heart palpitations. There’s something about the way it hugs Tanaka’s waist when his hands are shoved in the pockets of his pants, something about the deep purple of the tie that compliments him, something about seeing him all dressed up for a date and beaming at Chikara with that sunflower smile.

Tanaka doesn’t give Chikara the chance to be polite and get out to greet him, instead jumping into the limo to tackle Chikara, wrapping his arms around him tightly. “I missed you!!”

Chikara returns the embrace, a content sigh escaping him as he rests his head against Tanaka’s. “I missed you, too.” He pulls away reluctantly while he still has the willpower. “How was the hotel?” 

“Spent the whole time in the hot tub. Damn thing was bigger than my bathroom.” Tanaka lets out a low whistle as he looks around the limo, admiring the luxurious, leather seats and the screen playing a muted movie above the small bar. “Shit, this is fancy. How many refrigerators do you think I gotta fix to get me one of these?”

“Depends on how overrated the brand of the refrigerator is.” 

The conversation flows like nothing’s changed, a reminder to Chikara that, well, nothing has changed. Tanaka has an undercut and has mastered his winged eyeliner, but that only emphasizes the point - he’s been taking Chikara’s breath away long before he left. 

If only the conversation was enough to drag him away from the reality of his selfishness sinking in. “Um, this is… I…” Chikara frowns as the limo rolls up to the carpet, every flash of the mob’s cameras striking him right in the ego. He wasn’t just a name on some posters anymore, not after this project. People were going to recognize his face with certainty from now on, the paparazzi were going to hound him, the celebrity gossip magazines were going to watch his every more. He’d accepted that reality for himself. But… “I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”

“The hell are you on about?’ Tanaka asks, playfully poking Chikara’s cheek. “Lighten up. It’s time for your big reveal, Director-san.” 

“Bringing a man as my date isn’t exactly subtle.” He rests his hand on Tanaka’s knee. “I don’t want to cause you any trouble.” 

“You kidding? I love trouble.” He grabs Chikara’s hand on his knee and opens the door with his other hand before the chauffeur reaches it. 

The noise of the crowd, the flashing cameras, the lights and glitz and glamour - the entire busy world is muted to Chikara as Tanaka grabs his other hand and drags him out onto the carpet. 

Chikara regrets that he can’t paint; the sight of Tanaka grabbing both of his hands and grinning at him is a masterpiece. 

For once, he’s grateful for the paparazzi; the debut of Tanaka as his date will be immortalized thanks to them, hopefully the first of countless to come. 

Tanaka spends the night starstruck, and it’s wonderful; everytime he spots one of his celebrity crushes, he hides his face against Chikara’s shoulder and squeezes his hand. Chikara teases him from time to time to delight in his embarrassed whine until Tanaka mumbles, “Yeah, well, you’re the hottest here,” and Chikara’s the one left blushing and stuttering. 

Even better than the remark and the proximity, though, is Tanaka’s awe as he watches the film; Tanaka’s reactions are so animated and yet so genuine, it’s a grander compliment than any raving review. Finally, after a year of Tanaka’s paintings moving him, he can return the favor. 

The night spent hand-in-hand is over too quickly. “When are you gonna be back in town?” Tanaka asks as their ride reaches his hotel. 

He wishes he could fly back out to home with Tanaka tomorrow, but... “About a week and a half,” he replies. 

“Good. Good! Yeah, I’ll, uh,” Tanaka clears his throat as the chauffeur opens the door, “I’ll see you then?” He looks at Chikara expectantly, eyes flickering to Chikara’s lips, and Chikara knows full well he’s waiting for something more than a verbal answer.

Chikara brings Tanaka’s hand to his lips and kisses the back of his fingers instead; if he’s going to kiss Tanaka, he’s not going to want to stop anytime soon. Just a little longer, he tells himself. “I’ll see you as soon as I get back.”

*

White sheets and faded black pillow cases. 

“I’m gonna try something new this time,” Tanaka says as he sets a single folding chair beside the bed.

Chikara sits on the edge of the bed like before. “I’m surprised this is the first thing you want to do.” Chikara stuck to his promise, moreso than he’s lead on; he had his stuff delivered to his apartment, but he hasn’t gone back to it himself yet. He told Tanaka he’d see him as soon as he got back, after all.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for awhile,” Tanaka confesses with a blush. “So. Uh, I was thinking, I’d try a freeform kinda thing this time. Just paint on, um, on your back? And uh, and see where it goes, if- if that’s alright with you?” 

“Yeah- yeah, sure. I’ll just...” Chikara glances at Tanaka as he unbuttons his shirt, catching Tanaka stealing a peek and promptly looking away with a pink on his cheeks that matches the bottle of paint he sets on the chair. The supplies, especially the paints, are different from the first time, Chikara notices. “Different paints?” he asks as he folds his shirt and sets it on the pillow. 

“Yup. These are better for this.” Tanaka scratches the back of his neck, avoiding Chikara’s eyes. “Is it cool if I, uh, if I use fingers instead of brushes? It’ll- Cause the paint- You know, it’s like-”

“That’s fine.” Chikara offers him a soft smile, hoping to ease Tanaka before he bursts from nerves or embarrassment, whichever it is that’s turning his face redder than the bottles on the chair. 

Chikara lays on his stomach on the bed, regretful he can’t watch Tanaka’s concentration from this angle as Tanaka sits beside him, but the regret melts away when Tanaka’s fingers and the cool paint touch his skin. 

Tanaka’s touch is gentle to start, what feels like two fingers from different hands starting in the middle of his spine and spreading out, other fingers joining as they near his sides. One hand trails down his ribs and brush light as feathers down his to lower back, the other hand presses firmer as it caresses up to his nape. 

Chikara sighs, lost in the hands exploring his back, lost in the hand massaging his shoulder and the hand tracing circles above his hipbone, lost in the proximity of Tanaka as the painter straddles his waist. 

Tanaka’s breathing grows heavier bit by tiny bit as he continues, the once-gentle strokes of his fingers now firm presses massaging into his skin, slowly working his way up from Chikara’s lower back, to his ribs, tracing up his spine to his shoulders. 

He leans over Chikara as his hands travel up. Lower and lower, closer and closer until Chikara can feel his breath on his neck. 

Chikara turns his head, and Tanaka closes the distance to press his lips to Chikara’s. 

The position is awkward, but Chikara hardly notices, hardly notices anything other than Tanaka when Tanaka’s kissing him so softly and echoing his sighs, when Tanaka’s nudging him to his side, not when Tanaka’s kisses are growing deeper. He’s reluctant to follow Tanaka’s lead as Tanaka urges him onto his back, reluctant to mess up Tanaka’s work but Tanaka’s insistent, shoving him harder and pinning him to the bed by his shoulders. 

Tanaka’s like his paintings: captivating, enthralling, pulling Chikara in more and more with every kiss and every touch like the strokes of his brush. Chikara is his canvas, baring his feelings with his hands and his lips, and Chikara does the same, peeling away their clothes and painting his longing on the artist that captured his muse and his heart. 

Two hours pass before one of them says anything besides passionately calling each other’s names. “Um. Sorry about your sheet,” Chikara hums playfully into Tanaka’s shoulder beside a spot of blurred paint. 

“Mm. Check it out,” Tanaka mumbles with a sleepy smile, sitting up and taking Chikara’s hand to pull him up. 

The sheet is a beautiful mess of colors, paint rubbed off from Chikara’s back and prints all over from Tanaka’s desperate grasp. 

“My best painting yet,” Tanaka says, kissing Chikara’s shoulder. 

Chikara raises his brow with a smirk. “You were planning this all along.” 

Tanaka gives him a guilty grin. “Maybe.” 

Chikara rests his head on Tanaka’s shoulder as he looks at the ‘painting’, sighing contently as Tanaka runs his fingers through his hair. It’s as enchanting as the other paintings, every handprint and every streak of color an immortalized memory. “I’ll have to buy you more paint so we can can make more together.”

“Sounds like a plan, you rich bastard.”


End file.
